


day 1: touch

by apocryphic



Series: mcgenji week 2016 [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, McGenji Week, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Recall, Trans Genji Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8361814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphic/pseuds/apocryphic
Summary: They have both been many and are many things, but for each other, their touch is one, singular thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> they're not all gonna be dirty. :(

Genji has been made into a weapon of war who wields all manner of harm, a thief in the night to pluck life away with practiced fingers, a stranger to his previous life. He has existed as all of this — Overwatch leashed him and unleashed him as needed, and he had carried out what needed to be done with a prowess and single-minded determination that had left many to think of him as robotic. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He understands that he is all of these things now, once-upon-a-weapon, but not  _ only  _ that; his fingers are practiced, this is true, but not only in the art of stealing breath from those deserving of none. Genji's existence has found a completion that does not lead him to inescapable despair.

For a long time, his hands did nothing but harm. But Jesse,  _ oh, _ for Jesse — they do not.

Those same practiced fingers dance down Jesse's shoulders, across his chestplate. Jesse laughs; Genji does not, though beneath his visor there is a playful glint to how he watches Jesse's laughter catch funny when Genji takes the armor, pinches the grips, straps, feels it come away clean. Genji holds the armor then, effortless. His free hand presses flat to the broad span of Jesse's chest, and Jesse waits because he is nothing if not intricately wound around Genji's every action, always happy to see what he does next. 

Something in Genji prickles, eager. Jesse watches him with unguarded interest. It's a very good look on him. Genji drops the chestplate to the floor, hears it clatter, hears Jesse's breath skip, hears the whispered swear.

Genji allows Jesse to remove the serape from his shoulders, but he is the one to undo Jesse's shirt button-by-button. He allows Jesse to pull the sleeves from his arms, but he is the one to slide his hands down Jesse's bare skin, feel the pull of each inhale. Genji's fingers hook into Jesse's jeans and ease him closer; Jesse moves, because Genji's hands on him are never something he can particularly decline, and Genji takes great pride in that. For so many others, Jesse can be stubborn, impossible — but if Genji were to place a gentle touch to his shoulder, Jesse might think twice. At the very least, tension would bleed from his shoulders. Genji treasures that, the fact that a man so determined can become so pliant beneath his hands, under his hold.

Jesse reaches; Genji tips his chin forward, sighs as the faceplate is removed. How Jesse's hand angles to form a gentle presence against Genji's cheek, how a portion of his hand touches both cool metal and damaged skin — it's a reminder: Genji can bend for Jesse just as much as Jesse bends for him.

Genji smiles with the same playful lilt that had before been hidden beneath his faceplate. He turns, catches Jesse's thumb between his teeth (the lower ones synthetic like so much else of him, but at least they don't look it) and bites, licks at the pad of it. It's enough to throw Jesse off, makes the gunslinger let out a breath that maybe he didn't realize he was holding. 

Genji's fingers move to Jesse's belt, pull it off and away. It lands on the chestplate; the sharp sound of the flashy buckle against the metal doesn't faze either of them. Genji flicks the button of his jeans open, letting go of Jesse's thumb from between his teeth if only so that Jesse can help pull the helmet off the rest of the way. Jesse drops the helmet to the floor but keeps a careful hold on the faceplate that he still holds lightly, like he can't wait to put it down. 

So Genji takes the faceplate from him and tosses it over his shoulder. It hits the floor. Jesse takes his face between his hands and kisses him.

The chaps come off next, after Genji walks Jesse backwards and pushes him into the mattress, watches his body bounce with the impact, leaps down after him. The hat of his is long forgotten, somewhere on the floor; if Genji was not already straddling Jesse's thighs, maybe he would go after it to place on his own head, but he's not the least bit interested in having Jesse's hands off of him for even a moment — and Jesse's hand slips down,  _ down,  _ at the inside of Genji's thigh, pressing further, better. Genji arches into it, lets his approval be known with a pleased sound and his head falling back as Jesse teases at him. Jesse hums, shushes, coos at him, calls him  _ sweet thing.  _ Genji takes Jesse's wrist, moves Jesse's hand up to his own mouth until Jesse's gotten his fingers wet and slick with his spit.

"Coulda said please," Jesse tells him. His voice is rough, his smile is wide. Genji's hands are all over him, touching at his chest, bracing near his throat, dragging idly over the breadth of his shoulders. The sensors in the pads of his fingers fire off nicely, reminding him of the warmth of the skin beneath his touch. It isn't exact, it isn't like it would have been, if Genji were whole, but it's something, and it is enough.

"You like it when I hold your wrists," Genji reminds him. He pinches a soft bit between Jesse's ribs; Jesse flushes, scoffs, and most importantly, he doesn't argue.

Every bit of him slowly melts as Jesse eases his fingers in, Genji incrementally relaxing, rocking his hips forward into it. Jesse is having fun, touching him. His eyes dance, Genji's ass grinding against his still-clothed lap with each rolling movement. Genji closes his eyes, focuses on Jesse's fingers inside of him, Jesse's other hand on his waist, the way the metal thumb feels against the carbon fiber that makes up the majority of his hip. It's hardly more than a pressure, and Genji knows that there's not even nerves in Jesse's prosthetic to let him feel it either, but still —

Touch is something precious to them both. Contact is riveting; it's a comfort and an entertainment and everything in between.

Jesse's thumb moves in easy swirls against Genji's hip, his fingers curling up nice and smooth. Genji leans down and kisses him until Jesse breaks it, complains about his wrist hurting, the angle not quite right. Genji rolls over, takes Jesse with him, going liquid against the bed because it makes Jesse smirk, because Jesse knows better, because Jesse is fully aware that Genji could take him to the floor in a second flat if he wanted.

That, though, is for later.

Now is for letting Jesse open him up, letting Jesse's hand slide all over and across his torso, armor plating removed. Fingers bump against the rolls of where each layer of material meets the next. Genji, not for the first time, wishes he could feel it past that, even as his breaths get sharper, even as Jesse slides down to the edge of the bed, between Genji's knees, to let his lips and tongue join his fingers.

 

It's later, when Genji has managed to coax Jesse into another round (Jesse's breathing that had only just leveled out turning rapid again as Genji's mouth found the hollow of his throat, as his mouth traveled lower;  _ sugar, please,  _ murmured gently, and Genji enjoying the moan that came after) that Jesse's fingers can skate up and down Genji's reinforced spine, both of them sated, content, happy. Jesse has a hand pressed to the curve of Genji's lower back, a soft weight. Genji lazes, half on top of him, chin tucked against the crook of his neck and shoulder; he's left bite marks there, hickeys tempered with licks.

Genji reaches. He places his hand against Jesse's cheek, drags him over for a kiss. They are both weapons in their own regard; both of them have a history of doling out violence with the very hands that cradle each other now, but there is no harm and nothing sharp or aggressive to how they coexist now. They have both  _ been  _ many and  _ are  _ many things, but for each other, their touch is one, singular thing.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to archedes, you know why


End file.
